


Too Far

by Naemi



Category: The Faculty (1998)
Genre: Drama, Future Fic, M/M, Prompt Fic, Romance, angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-02
Updated: 2012-12-02
Packaged: 2017-11-27 16:15:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/663959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naemi/pseuds/Naemi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Casey's dream of being a top-class photographer comes true, their love falls by the wayside.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too Far

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aliensouldream](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Aliensouldream).



> Future Fic.

 

“Wow, baby. Just—wow!”

Casey beamed up at his boyfriend. “It's the dream I almost gave up on.”

“I didn't,” Zeke said softly. He bent down to kiss the tip of Casey's nose. “I knew you'd make it one day.”

Casey blushed, but his smile went even wider, and his eyes sparkled like the stars in the night sky. “Oh, hush, you,” he replied, stealing a real kiss.

Zeke lifted him up, and when Casey wound his legs around Zeke's waist, he carried him over to the bedroom where they celebrated the beginning of a new, adventurous life.

~ ~ ~

Planning and preparing an important exhibition was much more work than they first expected, but Casey was tireless, running 24/7 on only the excitement, anticipation and caffeine. Zeke helped where he could, mostly in keeping everything at bay that was not photography.

Casey carefully examined each and every picture he'd ever taken, sorting out, sorting back in, sometimes asking Zeke's opinion, and rarely listening to what he said. He went to take _more_ pictures, he met with the agents, and for the first ten days, it was a tough job, but the two of them handled it well.

But it all started to go downhill on day eleven of preparation.

Casey stood in the living room, surrounded by stacks of boxes. He had opened them all and the great deal of the pictures they held was scattered all over the floor.

“Zeke?” he yelled. “Where did the binder go? For fuck's sake.”

Zeke appeared in the doorframe. “Which binder?”

“The one with the collection of nature shots. I can't fucking find it.”

“I mailed it, remember?”

“You— _what_?” Casey looked at him with shock in his eyes, clenching his fists. “How could you?”

“Well, you told me to.”

“No. No! I said 'when I'm done,' but _I'm the fuck not done yet!_ ”

Zeke opened his mouth to shoot a sharp reply, but he managed to swallow it down, knowing there was no use in fighting now. “I'm sorry,” he said in a strained voice instead. “I thought—”

“Thanks. You better not try to think any more.” Casey's eyes shot arrows as he stormed past Zeke and grabbed his jacket from the coat hook.

“Where are you going?”

“To the darkroom. At least you can't undermine my efforts there.” The door slammed shut behind him with a bang.

Zeke kept staring, motionless, until a sudden attack of rage made him slam his fist into the wall. He took a deep breath, ignored the pain, and grabbed his own jacket, leaving with no special objective other than to get away.

~ ~ ~

Later that day, when both men had managed their anger, they were all apologies, promises and sweet kisses, but it only went well for another two days. The pressure was too much, expectations too high, and being overworked in combination with lack of sleep took its toll on Casey. Every day that brought the big event closer also increased his irritability to a point where Zeke found it nearly impossible to grin and bear it any longer. But he kept fighting, reminded himself that it _was_ worth it, that this was Casey's one big chance to actualize his dream, and Zeke found strength and comfort in knowing it would be over soon.

They made it through more downs than ups until the day finally came—and it was a full success. The press went crazy about Casey's work, and all of a sudden, he was a shooting star. A dream come true, indeed. Yet, the more attention he drew, the more it tore apart his private life. He was so busy running from one interview to the next, jetting all over the state that Zeke, although he was always by his side, soon started to feel like a shiny accessory. He shook hands and smiled. He had dinner with strangers and smiled. He kept repeating the story about their _friendship_ and smiled.

It stung his heart, for he missed _his_ Casey. Sometimes, the desperation burned so hot that he couldn't even drown it in a drink, although God knows he tried. But he had to shake more hands, have more dinners, tell more stories and smile until his face felt completely numb.

And still, Zeke held on to the hope that all the fuss about Casey and his art would eventually die down, at least enough for them to resume their life of simplicity and happiness.

But first things first. He would let Casey ride the wave as long as it went on, and he was ready to catch him when he fell.

~ ~ ~

“No.”

“What—no? Just like that?”

With a frustrated sigh, Zeke buried his face in his hands. He was too tired, too worn out, to answer.

“Hey, talk to me,” Casey insisted. He paced the floor of their luxury suite, obviously very in the mood for an argument. “Zeke?”

“Just forget it,” he replied in a low voice.

“No, we're talking this through. Now.”

“Okay. Fine. Just as you please.”

“Are you being sarcastic now? Really? How adult.”

Zeke glanced at him, shaking his head to Casey's lack of understanding. “You're not yourself anymore,” he eventually said, his voice barely audible.

“What?”

“You heard me. You have become an arrogant, egoistic asshole. Anything that is not you? Indifferent. I don't recognize you anymore. You are a stranger wearing Casey's face.”

There was a long moment of heavy silence. Casey sat down on a chair, as far away from Zeke as any possible without leaving the room, and when he finally spoke, he sounded hurt. “How could you say that? Do you really believe it?”

“Yes,” Zeke replied. All his pent-in emotions threatened to overwhelm him now that he had started to give them a voice, and it choked him. “I wish I could say I just wanted to be mean. But I didn't.”

“So . . . this is it? _I'm_ the asshole and you've had enough? Is that what this means?”

“Yes. No. I don't know. It's all too much. The only thing I know for sure is that I'd do anything for the chance to get you back. But this,” Zeke spread his arms, “is not worth fighting for. I thought it would be, but to me, it means nothing at all.”

“Maybe it does to me. Maybe it is all I ever wanted. Don't make me decide, Zeke. That's not fair.”

“You have to.” Tears stung Zeke's eyes, but he managed to hold them back as he walked over to Casey and squatted down in front of him. He reached out to touch him, but reconsidered it and rested his hand on his own knee instead, looking down at it. “If you're not going to join this expedition, you will hate yourself forever for passing up such a great opportunity.”

“Zeke . . .”

“I don't want you to go. I think this will be the one step too far for _us_. But it's also the one step that will lay the whole world at your feet. Ordinary jobs come and go, but this is exceptional, and I understand if you go. I really do.”

They looked at each other for what seemed an eternity until finally, Casey lowered his eyes and nodded. “I can't let it slip through my fingers,” he whispered. “I just can't.”

“I know. I'm not holding you back.”

Casey opened his mouth to reply, but then he shook his head, remaining silent. He stood up and left the room. Five minutes later he returned with his suitcase packed. Zeke hadn't moved, did not move now, and Casey didn't know what to do or say. Everything he could think of seemed cheesy and clichéd, and so he left with a heavy heart, but without a goodbye.

~ ~ ~

“. . . no hints to the cause yet.”

“The plane was on the way to . . .”

“. . . crashed today at noon . . .”

“The expedition was meant to . . .”

Zeke zapped from one channel to the next, staring, unblinking. He showed no reaction at all, but his heartbeat was at a racing pace, and his hand that held the remote control shook so violently that he had to steady it with the other, without effort. He vaguely understood he should be feeling something, _whatever_ , but his capability of feeling seemed to have been fully erased upon hearing the news. All that was left was white, blinding blankness.

The sinking sun filled the room with a red heat, but Zeke didn't notice, and he also did not realize the sound of a keycard and the opening of the door—but when he heard a familiar voice, his eyes widened. He turned around very slowly, staring at what he thought must be his weary mind tricking him in a most cruel way.

“Casey?” he mouthed, his vocal chords refusing to function. Zeke looked at the TV, back at the figure, incapable of processing the information. “You're dead,” he whispered, and finally, it hit him with full force. His eyes filled with tears. He who appeared to be Casey didn't answer, and Zeke reached out, touching his cheek carefully, as if he feared he might be burnt. When he realized it was no illusion, he jumped up, pulling Casey into his arms, holding him so tight that he thought he must crush him.

A single, desperate sob came over Casey's lips, and he clutched onto Zeke, nuzzling his head against his chest. “I didn't go. I didn't go. I couldn't, I . . . I could never, never leave you. I love you. Zeke, god, I love you!”

Zeke cupped his face with his hands and kissed him, still not understanding, but it didn't matter. Casey was alive, he had not been on this fateful flight, and he was here with him now, against all possibilities. This second chance filled him with great gratitude.

“I love you,” Zeke said in tears. “I love you,” and that was all the words they needed for a long time.

**Author's Note:**

> Loosely based on the prompt: Casey/Zeke, a mistaken identity/missed opportunity but all's well in the end.
> 
> Beta'd by the wonderful Moit, who also made sure that all characters were returned unharmed.
> 
> _Feedback is love._


End file.
